


quickdraw

by bemire



Category: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemire/pseuds/bemire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sundance is nothing if not loyal, and that will have to suffice as his version of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quickdraw

**Author's Note:**

> Quickdraw is a Carol Ann Duffy poem, which I've butchered for my ugly purposes.

_I twirl the phone,_

_then squeeze the trigger of my tongue, wide of the mark._

_You choose your spot, then blast me_

_through the heart._

 

The Sundance Kid doesn't do  _love_. He doesn't make it to the chapter title, into the mouth of the bitter barman, to the heart of the West being kind and tender and soft. He's the sharpest shooter in all America, and he doesn't do  _love_. 

He can do smitten, maybe: if so, then he's smitten with the sharp points of the horizen, the creases in Etta's skins, the Queen of Hearts and her royal subjects. But that's not love and he wouldn't be fooling anyone saying it was.

He can do desire, even more so: greed, gluttony and pride are subjects he is well versed in. But you pay for your lust, and you earn your pride. The Sundance Kid doesn't do love, because maybe, he can't afford it. He's an outlaw these days, after all.

Butch Cassidy, Sundance knows, and has always known, falls in and out of love only a fraction of a second slower than the bullet in Sundance's gun. He can't blame him, though, not Butch. Butch is the King of Hearts and it's the only thing he's ever known.

-

Butch Cassidy is wanted in 5 states; in many ways more than one. Sundance has always been careful, slipping through the radar, a riding a horse behind, thoughts two steps ahead. He's a near unknown - it's Butch the lawmen want, it's Butch the girls want. It's Butch the cowboys want, the bandits, the men and their wives and the children. 

They call him Butch Cassidy, and Sundance knows that's not his real name, and Sundance wants - 

-

Sundance knows the value of loyalty, it's place in the world, just like he knows the value of love:

to love, and to be loved in return; to love, and to love unrequitedly; to love, and to asquiece. The Sundance Kid doesn't do love, because he doesn't need to love. He understands why others do though, what it means to them - currency, an exchange, quid pro quo.

He'll tell you he doesn't do love, because he doesn't need love: because money and stocks and currency are for the fat cats in the Eastern cities, with their black lanes and silver plated women, and for the twinkle in Butch Cassidy's eye. The value of loyalty, however, has always been much higher: 

to follow blindly, hands tied, through pistol and dagger; to lay his life down in the hands of a man who cannot aim to save his own; to stay, to understand, to defend, and to take pride in. 

Sundance is nothing if not loyal, and that will have to suffice as his version of love.

-

They call him Butch Cassidy, and Harry wants - 

Well, for one, he wants to sleep in his own bed, just once more, back in Pensylvannia. He wants to see his mother, he wants to learn how to draw a gun. He wants to get away from this jail cell, wants a name other than his own. He wants a proper meal, a girl - and he wants to know why Butch Cassidy is so important to those here with him.

He's eighteen now, and he wants so many things without reason or mean. He wants and he wants, cooped up like cattle in his pen. He can feel himself growing older and younger, dependent on the weather, taught and loose with the slick walls and rusted metal and too much time spent indoors - bright eyed and hard-skinned; he refuses to talk to the other inmates, refuses to see past his knuckles.

One day they'll  _know_ , one day they'll get the idea. For now, though, they just keep on whispering. Harry will learn to listen better than anyone else.

-

It's Butch he goes to first, when fire rains from the sky, crisp bank-notes falling like wounded men. He can feeling himself shaking; adrenaline, fear - but most probably the sparks singeing his clothes, and it's Butch he wants to see, despite everything. Crawls through the dust, laughter ringing in his ears.

Love is for women, children and men of the law. Loyalty is for cowboys, bandits and men of honour, clinging to the only people they've ever known.

-

He's the Sundance Kid, locked up in Sundance Jail, Wyoming, with blood on his hands but not a word on his lips. He's angry and he's bitter, betrayed, bright eyed, hard-skinned - there are shouts surrounding him, cheers, cat-calls, screams for mercy.

He's the Sundance Kid, just out of Sundance Jail, Wyoming; he wants to see his mother, he's learned how to draw a gun - he's going to be the sharpest shooter in all America. He wants a proper meal, a girl; any girl at all. He doesn't speak, but he's learned to listen, and he's very good at silencing those that don't.

He's knows the value of  _truth_ now, and he misses his mother, which he thinks counts for love. He's learned too, most importantly - why Butch Cassidy is so important. The Sundance Kid is twenty and he's searching for someone.

Someone who's going to teach him what he's missed these years - an aside for his  _truth_ and his  _love_ , as deep as it can be. He's got love for the wilderness, he's lusting after the flush of pale skin, proud of the way his fingers can throw up the dust. He's got faith in-

faith in-

 _faith in_ -

-

Have you seen Butch Cassidy, or any of his Wild Bunch? Sundance has a bone to pick.

 


End file.
